


Sleep

by makeuswise



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:04:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeuswise/pseuds/makeuswise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meditation is a difficult thing, as any honest monk will admit. It requires years of practice, unmatched dedication to calming the mind and seeking inner peace. Meditation is even harder, Zenyatta supposes, when you require sleep that is difficult to attain. It shows when Genji has a rough night, when the nightmares return despite his best attempts to defeat them, when he spends hours shaking with the phantom feel of a blade slicing through fragile skin.</p><p>Zenyatta helps Genji sleep.</p><p>Gift fic for cyberratting on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep

Meditation is a difficult thing, as any honest monk will admit. It requires years of practice, unmatched dedication to calming the mind and seeking inner peace. Meditation is even harder, Zenyatta supposes, when you require sleep that is difficult to attain. It shows when Genji has a rough night, when the nightmares return despite his best attempts to defeat them, when he spends hours shaking with the phantom feel of a blade slicing through fragile skin.

  
The worst part for Zenyatta is how helpless he is to stop it, unable to reach into Genji’s mind and pick out the thoughts that haunt him. He’s tried everything he can come up with; special teas, calming playlists, even attempting to teach Genji lucid dreaming. Nothing works, and Genji spends his days sluggish and exhausted more often than not. The poor thing tries his best to hide it, to act upbeat and cheerful and above all hopeful, but Zenyatta has never needed to search to see through it.

  
Considering that this is the third time in the past week that Genji has fallen sound asleep when he’s supposed to be meditating, Zenyatta is beginning to think his presence is the only thing that allows the boy the luxury. And not simply his presence, either; only when they’re alone together can Genji drift off. If any of the other monks are around, sleep is as elusive as ever, and Zenyatta has even seen him wake from a nap when others have so little as passed by. It does no good to wonder the reasons why this is the case, so Zenyatta decided several weeks ago to simply accept the odd quirk. No need to wonder over the warmth that spreads through him when Genji shows such trust (only to him, only ever to him), because that only leads to a place Zenyatta isn’t sure he’s willing to go quite yet.

  
“Genji,” he calls, soft as his voice will allow. Usually he continues his own meditation while Genji sleeps, not willing to interrupt the delicate peace settled between them. Today, however, he’s feeling a bit experimental. Genji rouses, just peeking his head over the surface of sleep to groggily acknowledge his master from where he’s curled up on the floor.

  
“I fell asleep again,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and undistorted without his visor, “I am sorry, master.” He seems truly repentant, guilty that he’s managed to fall asleep yet again in a way his childhood taught him is unacceptably disrespectful. Zenyatta has heard stories of how he was raised, the spoiled son who never fully escaped his father’s vicious discipline. Not as bad as Hanzo had it, Genji had assured him once, as if his brother ending up with more bruises somehow made Genji’s own less meaningful. Your brother’s pain does not diminish what you went through, Zenyatta had said, Another’s heavy burden does not lighten your own.

“There is no need to apologize, Genji,” Zenyatta responded easily, “Would you mind if I touched you?” Sometimes Genji can’t handle physical contact, his cyborg body still a source of disgust and distress more often than not. He’s shown great progress, however, and that must be enough for the time being. At Genji’s sure nod, Zenyatta drifts closer until he can get arms around his pupil, lifting him off the ground and setting him in his lap. Genji blusters, face pinking as he curls in tighter to better fit on Zenyatta’s legs.

“Master--” he breathes, unsure and cut off, like he wants to continue but isn’t sure what words should follow.

“Is this alright?” Zenyatta asks, resting one palm on Genji’s outer thigh to stabilize him as they float out of the room and down the hall. For a terrible moment Zenyatta thinks he’s overstepped his bounds, but Genji finally nods decisively. Zenyatta makes sure no one is around before he floats across a short piece of the courtyard, not wanting to embarrass his student. Unfortunately, Genji can still be quite worried about the opinions of others, so Zenyatta does his best to avoid anything potentially distressing. It’s gotten quite late, however, so there shouldn’t be anyone to run into.

He can feel Genji relax when they reach his room, body eagerly releasing whatever tension it had picked up along the way. Genji shifts as if to pull himself from Zenyatta’s lap, surely thinking the intention was just to carry him to his room like a child. The grip on his thigh tightens, not enough force to keep him in place against his will, but enough pressure to get his attention. He looks up to Zenyatta’s impassive faceplate, a minute head tilt convincing him to settle back down. Were he still human, his legs would be starting to hurt from keeping them pulled up, nothing but one of Zenyatta’s knees under his ankle for support. But he’s not human, so he could probably keep this position all day. The thought tastes only a little bitter in the back of his mind.

Zenyatta sinks to the floor and the gesture is enough to shake Genji to his core. In all his time knowing the omnic, he’d only ever seen Zenyatta touch the ground once before, and that was because one of his hover jets had been damaged. A small hum vibrates through Zenyatta and into Genji, urging his rushing heart to calm.

“Rest, my friend,” Zenyatta says, a sweet lilt to his voice that would go unnoticed to anyone who didn’t spend near every waking moment with him. Nothing about Zenyatta goes unnoticed to Genji. My friend, he had said. Not his student or pupil or even brother, as he called the other monks. His friend. Something tightens where his heart used to be.

He ignores the absurd fluttering in his stomach, not ready to address the feelings he already knows deep in the back of his mind. Now that they’re on the floor, he can adjust his position to something more comfortable. He shuffles down to lie on the floor, only his head resting in Zenyatta’s lap. A memory suddenly surfaces, his mother holding him after his first breakup, hand gentle where it rests on his neck as she tells him that time heals all wounds, that he will love again and again and one day someone will love him back, unconditionally, wholly, without fear. When Zenyatta’s hand comes to rest on his head, he thinks for a wild moment that the day might come soon.

“You think far too much,” Zenyatta says with a fondness that feels like home. Fingers run gently through the short thatch of hair he’s finally managed to grow back. The tenderness has Genji’s eyes sliding shut, soothing him into a serene drowsiness. Suddenly he realizes he’s gone the entire day with his faceplate and headpiece off and he feels bare, exposed, proud. For the first time he feels comfortable in his body, flesh and bone and metal and wire. He is what he is, and he’s found people who accept him for it. Gratefulness is a lovely warmth in his chest.

Though he knows this self-acceptance won’t last long, that he’ll be back to avoiding mirrors and scratching his scarred face, his mechanical jaw and hard body soon, he enjoys the moment he has here in Zenyatta’s hold. He is home in a way he never felt in Hanamura, something more than just a house to come back to at the end of a day spent avoiding the disappointed eyes of his father. He is loved, just the way he is.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, feeling sleep pull at the edges of his mind. With the feel of Zenyatta’s unyielding fingers running through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp, he submits to the siren song of sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Not super proud of this, but I've never written anything but smut so I guess it'll do.  
> Any and all feedback/corrections are welcome!!


End file.
